


Iris

by willperform4food



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, M/M, My First Completed Work, One Shot, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-12 03:42:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/806793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willperform4food/pseuds/willperform4food
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson wakes in the middle of the night to hears something unusual from downstairs. What will happen when he finds his flatmate playing his violin and singing?</p><p>(Written while constantly listening to Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls. And the Vitamin String Quarter's version helped a great deal.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Iris

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a one-shot that I have finally finished. Although, I am constantly editing this story and I would love any feedback on how it can be improved.

After sharing a flat with the world’s only consulting detective for almost a year, Dr. John Hamish Watson had become accustomed to the sounds of a violin playing in the very late hours of the night (even the far too early hours of the morning). But this time, as he pulled himself out of bed to scold his flatmate for the umpteenth time that week alone, he also heard what sounded like… Singing? It was incredibly unnatural; the deep baritone resonating through the crack under his door held almost unearthly qualities.

John found himself walking down the stairs as if in a trance by the tall violinist’s singing voice. He paused as his feet left the last step, a yawn overtaking his stout frame. The doctor then rubbed his still sleep-filled eyes as they tracked the man dancing around the flat in time to the notes he was playing. Just as John stopped in the doorway, the singing cut off, though the violin continued.

In his currently sleep-deprived state, the groggy doctor couldn’t stop the muttered question from leaving his mouth, “Why d’ya stop?” Sherlock simply kept playing and John stared, in awe, for the full minute or so before the man continued singing. (John assumed it was the chorus since Sherlock sang it a couple more times before gently ending the song. Anyway, he was barely waking up and he couldn’t be bothered to distinguish between each of the words sung.)

“In lieu of properly answering your ridiculous question, I will instead play the song again.” Sherlock’s speaking voice, that bored and emotionless tone, pulled John completely away from the arms of the sandman. John crossed his arms and leaned against the wall as Sherlock re-tucked the violin between his chin and shoulder. “Iris.” He sighed, as if talking to his best friend when he could be playing was some great chore. “The name of the song is ‘Iris.’” As he began to play once more, John whispered ‘beautiful’ under his breath.

       And I’d give up forever to touch you,

              ‘Cause I know that you feel me somehow,

       You’re the closest to heaven that I’ll ever be,

              And I don’t want to go home right now.

John had sat down in his chair to watch Sherlock play. And he was in awe, absolutely stunned. The tall man sounded so sincere and raw, like he was pouring his feelings into the lyrics. His violin sounded as equally emotional. ‘Could he really mean this?’ john just couldn’t fathom Sherlock actually having feelings (let alone) like these. Since he didn’t know the song, John certainly wasn’t expecting the next couple of lines.

       And all I could taste is this moment,

              And all I can breathe is your life,

       When sooner or later it’s over,

              I just don’t want to miss you tonight.

Sherlock was swaying slightly as the words formed perfectly, flowing from his mouth like a gentle rain. And John couldn’t help but feel that the lyrics were aimed at him. ‘You really shouldn’t be over thinking this. I mean, maybe he just likes the song and you just happened to be awake…?’ Army Doctor John wondered aloud. ‘Pfft, I think you know exactly why he’s singing the song. AND that he is singing to you!’ Frat-boy Soldier John exclaimed. Meanwhile John, himself, merely ignored the inner debate and listened to what he could recall to be the chorus.

       And I don’t want the world to see me,

              ‘Cause I don’t think that they’d understand,

       When everything’s made to be broken,

              I just want you to know who I am.

The first line: Sherlock turned his back on John and stared out the window. Second line: He visually deflated and ever-so-slightly shook his head. Third line: …John wasn’t quite paying attention because the fourth line’s reaction took him by surprise, more so than the last five minutes had. Sherlock’s slate blue eyes pierced John where he sat, leaving him breathless and astonished. Yet another line had been sung beautifully. A lingering pause and then…

       And you can’t fight the tears that ain’t comin’,

              Or the moment of truth in your lies,

       When everything feels like the movies,

              Yeah, You’d bleed just to know you’re alive.

When the awe-inspiring spectacle first began, John was just amazed that Sherlock had such a lovely voice but as the singing went on, he really heard the lyrics and how they seemed to fit the consulting detective so well. The doctor even noted how certain stanzas fit their everyday life. Though John knew Sherlock was always highly aware of the shorter man’s presence, this moment was different. It was like every movement John made was picked up and analyzed by Sherlock’s acute senses. The singing continued and John felt like he couldn’t keep up with the passionate vocalizing.

       And I don’t want the world to see me,

              ‘Cause I don’t think that they’d understand,

       When everything’s made to be broken,

              I just want you to know who I am.

After the second singing of the chorus came a 90second silence that was filled by a short ‘Q & A’:

“Do you mean it?” John queried.

“Of course.” Came Sherlock’s curt reply.

“But, why?”

“Why not?”

“How come-” John was cut off.

“What’s with all the questions?” Sherlock continued to play as he turned the tables on John’s inquiries.

“You just sound so sincere.”

“And what if I am? Would that scare you?” Sherlock was so daunting as he hovered over John. Even as the shorter man stood to meet his gaze.

“No. But it would surprise me. I didn’t know that-”

“I had emotions? I could care?”

“-You could care about me.” This time, Sherlock was stunned by John’s upfront attitude.

The soldier still in John refused to back down. When he put his mind to something, he wouldn’t stop until either his point was made or the other party was clear on his side of the matter. “I realize I am your only friend (aside from Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson of course), but you have never done anything to make me think otherwise. I mean— Is this your way of telling me?”

Sherlock responded only with silence. Well, as much silence as could come from him when playing his violin.

“Sherlock.” John’s commanding tone always got Sherlock’s attention. “Do I really mean that much to you?”

“Another ridiculous question I shouldn’t have to answer.” Sherlock scoffed, and then turned serious again as he spoke a single word that would change their relationship, “Yes.” (2:38)

Though John kept his face composed so outwardly he seemed merely pleased, it was very different internally. Inwardly, his heart started to beat faster, blood pooled in his cheeks, and it took his brain some time to find something to say, so long in fact that Sherlock had begun to sing again. (3:30)

As the four lines that made up the sprung from his lips once more, Sherlock couldn’t help but think of what he had just revealed to John. The consulting detective didn’t know nor comprehend how he felt until he had felt compelled to answer his best friend’s question truthfully.

When he began to sing the chorus a fourth and final time, Sherlock found himself perched on the arm of his chair as John gazed down at him. Though, John was just barely above Sherlock when he stood and the detective sat.

John just stood there in front of his best mate. (Possibly more.) And all he could do was watch Sherlock’s now midnight blue eyes as he neared the end of the morose song. He knew exactly what to expect; an epic ending and a delightful flourish of the violin. Which is exactly what he got:

Sherlock sang, “I just want you to know who I am,” four more times before ending the song with 30 seconds of peaceful, wistful, soothing violin playing.

John watched Sherlock carefully put his treasure on the floor. He then watched the detective’s mouth as he spoke. “The majority of that song was me telling lies.” The shorter man felt his face scrunch up in confusion. “I don’t ‘want you to know who I am.’ I want you to know who I am not, and I need you to know who I am.”

The one and only consulting detective Sherlock Holmes couldn’t believe the sentimental drivel coming out of his mouth. Then again, John had a knack for making him think emotional, _heart-warming_ thoughts when the situation called for such things. Made him think and feel and say things he never would have done before. And he liked it.

John Hamish Watson watched as a genuine smile made itself at home on the detective’s face. Then, watched as he leaned forward. And proceeded to feel a rather warm, plush pair of lips press against his own gently and a little intimidated before they were pulling away. John then felt his own mouth stretch into a wide smile.

The two men stayed there (each in their semi-awkward positions) for a moment longer breathing each other’s air before chuckling and parting to return to their separate sleeping quarters. Each man lay in their beds, just thinking about what just happened between the two of them before drifting off. Though, only John actually fell asleep as Sherlock was much too wired to close his eyes, nor could he shut off the many impossible thoughts that ran through his mind after just such an impossible event.


End file.
